Ice
by Ombre Du Vampire
Summary: Remy always did favor coldness over heat. (one shot)


A short one shot, which, depending on how you take it, I guess, _could_ _possibly_ be taken as slash. Done in the point of view of Pyro.

_Disclaimer: _I dont own X-Men Evolution. _Obviously_.

_..:Ice:.._

The caf's rather empty. Remy didn't want to come to a place such as this, he rathers crowds. But I can't stand large crowds, not unless I'm the centre of attention, though that tends to get me into trouble. He's more responsible than me that way; he tends not to be such an attention seeker, though he's a natural when it comes to getting it. Wherever he goes, there are always eyes on that dark, handsome stranger. He always tells me he rathers the ice to the flame, but what he may mean by that, I doubt I'll _ever_ know. Perhaps it's meant as an insult; perhaps what he means is that he'd prefer to have that X-Man as a teammate than _me_.

He's a calm person, Remy is. Watching him, in his trench coat on this humid, bright day, he seems at home in this petite shop just off the side of the road. You can see the comfort in those luxurious, large brown eyes of his that so often turn red on black. The beads of sweat on his tanned forehead would indicate otherwise, however, though I'm sure he's all right with the heat.

He reminds me so much of the thing I dread the most-ice. Cold, found in dark places, and can snap quite easily. And _slippery_. Lets not forget _slippery_. The Cajun is never short of a sneaky idea, and using people is his speciality. I doubt he'd befriend me at all if he never had intentions of using me, but if he has, he hasn't fulfilled them so far. I'm glad he's my friend, anyway. I may seem like an insane pyromaniac, and for the most part, that's probably true, but every so often, thoughts like these run through that air-filled skull of mine and I end up confusing myself.

He's quiet, Remy. Well, quiet _sometimes_. Like now. Though, truth be told, he's very drowsy now, close to being taken over by slumber, yet holding on with a mere edge of his consciousness. I can barely see those deep brown eyes for his eyelids are dropping in the way, and his soft lips are turned down in a partially open frown. The humid weather must be getting to him, but so far, I haven't even felt even one bead of sweat on my own forehead.

He can be very acrimonious, this gambling, thieving, friend of mine. Only once he gets started, mind, thank god for that. He prefers do drink or gamble or pick pocket or look out for a nice girl he could set his sights on. He likes more flashy girls, but honestly? Any would do for him.

He's just about the opposite of me, and I sometimes wonder, does he have a cooling affect on people? I've calmed down quite a bit since I've met him, was it coincidence or perhaps it had something to do with Remy? If possible, Piotr cooled down, too, but he was so cold to begin with. I doubt he'd have stuck around as long as he did if it were not for Remy, for the charismatic, protective, responsible man that only sometimes arises from the very depths of the thiefs' being.

And now, as he blinks his eyes and rubs a small, shiny trail of drool off his smooth chin, and calls the waitress over to our table, I watch him, already knowing what _he's_ going to order. But first, however, he insists that some type of air conditioning be turned on, making it clearly obvious that he doesn't care that he has a heavy brown _trench coat_ on on this humid summer day. Once he's finally ready to order, satisfied that the air conditioner has been turned on, he turns first to me.

"Extra hot cup of tea would be smashing, mate." I tell him, though saying it also so the waitress would hear.

He nods, though I know from the puzzled look on his face that he fails to understand how, on such a hot day, I can order anything even merely warm. He never would.

"And you?" the waitress turns to him, a frown creasing her pale skin, which is broken only by a tiny birth mark on her lower left cheek.

"Beer from de fridge, ma chere," he tells her, flashing her a sweet smile, "Wit' plenty o' ice."


End file.
